


1957

by Gyakugire



Category: Death Note
Genre: 1950s, 1950s Slang, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Asexual Character, Derogatory Language, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Greasers, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Violence, kind of, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-05-29 18:58:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6389236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gyakugire/pseuds/Gyakugire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They’re shitty kids. </p><p>On Sunday, they’ll get dressed up in pressed suits, gold necklaces with crosses dangling in the middle of their chests. They’ll say their Hail Mary’s and their Our Fathers, they’ll go to picnics and soup kitchens. They’ll do it, then smoke a joint in the back seat of B’s car, laughing at the stars and wrestling in the park until they’re out of breath, bodies tangled with one another. "</p><p>1950s greaser au here we go</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One thru Five

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I've wanted to write for a while. Just a warning for a lot of explicitly sexual sexual things, as well as derogatory language use, as well as violence/drug/alcohol use etc etc. Just a heads up ah
> 
> Feel free to say hi or leave any comments on my tumblr or whatever haha: hokusoemu.tumblr.com

Swing dancing, bomb scares, Cold Wars, Korea, and a few other things thrown in there that they understood were going on and were too young to be involved in but too old to completely ignore.

Oh, and an economic boom.

An economic boom for who?

Mello calls bullshit, sweating his ass off, painting a house fora bunch of assholes that already nearly forgot to pay him once, and he’s sure it won’t be the last time it happens.

It’s too hot to paint, feels like a hundred degrees despite being only in a wife beater and a pair of baggy jeans, but cash is cash and he ain’t gonna get that Harley Davidson without it. 

That’s how most of Mello’s summer went. Wet paint, Matt’s house—Matt’s makeshift pool, mostly—a couple of packs of smokes, a handful of joints, and a few well intentioned smears of suntan lotion on Matt’s back so he “wouldn’t burn his white ass.” What Mello enjoyed the most was Matt’s smile and the way he’d lean into the touches, almost as if he _enjoyed_ it, and would whisper that “This sort of shit’s for _flits_.”

Mello says the same to him when Matt frets over dried paint clumped in his golden blond hair, picking at it with chewed up fingernails and tired, unreadable eyes. 

The thought’s never formed completely, but he thinks Matt’s the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

“Mel, stay still or I’m gonna rip your hair out.”

The blond laughs, and shrugs, tilting his head so that Matt’s fingers are pressed to his scalp. Absentmindedly, his friend massages the top of his head, using the other hand to continue with his work. “How the hell’d you get it back here?” 

“John flicked a paintbrush at me again,” he says with an airy laugh, and Matt snorts.

“I’m sure you deserved it.”

“Maybe. Wanna go to the beach tonight?” 

“Sure. We’ll call Near?”   
“Nah, just us.”  
“Oh,” Matt murmurs, and yanks the last of the paint out of Mello’s hair. “Yeah, that’s fine. The car’s running, just have to get more gas.”

Mello leans his head back and grins like an idiot, because Matt’s freckles are more prominent in the summer, dusting across his cheeks and chin, over the sides and back of his neck, and beneath his shirt, constellations that are more captivating to him than the stars. 

Matt’s hand comes up over his eyes, clamping down and blocking out his vision. “Stop staring, it’s freaky.”

“Then stop noticing,” Mello murmurs, rolling his tongue over his bottom lip, noting that Matt seems to press down on his face that much harder.

~~

Matt doesn’t think much about it. Atomic this, radioactive that. Dangerous? Probably. Cool? Of fucking course. Sure sounded a lot fuckin’ better than changing tires and getting car fluid all over his clothes. 

Blowing some shit up sounded all right. Maybe not an entire city, but a car or maybe a convenience store would do. 

Just as long as the arcade across town wasn’t caught in the crossfire. 

He’s got a summer full of Mello, whether he’s there or not, lots of smokes and lots of driving. Lots of touches from a boy with blond hair and sparkling eyes that mean nothing and everything, twisting the redhead’s stomach into nervous, ecstatic knots. That, and cars. He’s got himself a beat up Ford from the junkyard, and between shifts he fixes it up the best he can, changing hinges, swapping engines, laying screws out on the desk in his room so they won’t get lost. 

Maybe he’ll be a mechanic.  
Maybe he’ll be a scientist.

He’s not really sure. All he’s got a focus on right now is the blond in the passenger seat of the Ford, taking it out on its third test drive.  
“Yo, Mel.”  
“Yeah?” 

He’s got a cigarette dangling from his lips, unlit, mostly there for aesthetic, and shades that dangle just below the bridge of his nose, showing hints of those eyes that Matt absolutely adores. “You think it’s weird for girls to say they love each other?” he murmurs as casually as he can muster up, and while Mello lights his smoke, he seems to think honestly about it.

“What do you mean?” he finally drawls out, letting smoke pour slowly from between his lips. “Like…flits?” 

“Nah, nah, just friends,” Matt spews out, but it feels like it’s coming off his tongue too quickly, too defensively. 

“Uhuh.” He takes another drag. “I guess it doesn’t matter either way, does it?” 

“Okay.”

“Why, you wanna tell me you love me or somethin’?” 

Matt snorts, but he doesn’t say no.

Mello eyes him until he’s fed up with waiting. “Well?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

The blond laughs, wind chimes and knives, piercing, beautiful, terrifying. “You wouldn’t have said it if you minded.”

He shrugs.

“Well…Love you, Matty. That’s what you want, right? Here, I’ll even let you hold my hand.”

Matt’s got his heart thumping against his ribcage, blood hot and thick, his fingers laced between Mello’s sitting on the stick shift.

He’s a fucking flit, he knows he is. And Mello probably knows too, because he clings to the blond’s hand like this is the only chance he has, pulling the boy’s limb into his lap while he drives. 

The blond swallows hard. Nervous. Matt has half a mind to let go, but he doesn’t make him, so they stay as they are, until Mello huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re not gonna say it back?” he grumbles, focusing on the passing cars.

“Oh. Yeah. Right, sorry. I love you,” Matt says, followed by a nervous laugh, and Mello only rolls his eyes at him.

~~

L’s not one for girls.

Hell, he’s not really one for guys either. 

Doesn’t particularly care for academics.

Nor does he particularly care for athletics.

Or parties. 

Friends, either. 

Instruments were boring.

But with every rule comes a few exceptions, and he’s got B in between his legs, a hand down his pants, rubbing, stroking, grabbing, forcing low moans out of his throat. Everyone’s long since gone since wrestling practice ended, and B’s got him up against the shower wall, aggressive, biting at ghostly pale flesh, leaving marks that no one but the two of them will see, indents of teeth and deep red hickeys.

L barely makes a noise. 

B prefers it that way. 

The less theatrics, the better. 

L doesn’t know if he’s turned on, or if he’s bored. 

He decides, when B asks to blow him, hot breath tickling his ear, that yeah he’s turned on. L doesn’t moan until the other boy’s got him pushed all the way into his mouth and there’s a finger pushed against his prostate, coaxing a harsh orgasm from his body.

They’re shitty kids. 

On Sunday, they’ll get dressed up in pressed suits, gold necklaces with crosses dangling in the middle of their chests. They’ll say their Hail Mary’s and their Our Fathers, they’ll go to picnics and soup kitchens. They’ll do it, then smoke a joint in the back seat of B’s car, laughing at the stars and wrestling in the park until they’re out of breath, bodies tangled with one another. 

“Do we have time?” L murmurs, voice heavy with lust, and B laughs against his hipbone, tonguing at it while he shakes his head. 

“I have to pick up Near.”  
They pull away from each other, and B kisses him, too much tongue, mouth open too wide, but L returns the gesture, almost bored all over again. “Wanna join?” 

L shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Near said he wanted to go for ice cream at lunch.”

There’s a smile playing at L’s lips, and he laughs, leaning against B while the other boy washes his hands. “I suppose I can’t refuse, then.”

~~

Exceptionally revelational thoughts, as frequently as they come to Matt, never come together in bits. 

It’s always a full on punch to the fucking dick, painful, overwhelming, and completely un-fucking-necessary.

It’s not reallya romantic setup.

The again, Matt isn’t much of a romantic to begin with. 

He’s got an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, pissed because detention went a half an hour longer than he expected, pissed that Mello is still waiting for him, sitting on the roof of his car, knocking his goddamned steel toed boots against the door, most definitely scratching his brand fucking new paint job. He popped a bubble on his face, bubblegum sticking to skin, and he’s picking it off while Matt makes his way over, swearing loud enough that the redhead can hear him halfway across the parking lot.

Idiot.

He’s known the blond for almost thirteen years, and given that they had hardly reached seventeen, it was a pretty big deal. Mello greets him with hands on his shoulders, rubbing at muscles with the pads of his fingers. 

There’s probably gum on his shirt.

Matt doesn’t mind, though. It just means that Mello’s touching him. That’s alright. Mello’s alright.

“Damn, you look like they ran you through the shitter,” Mello murmurs, but he barely even registers it. He’s got his eyes locked on Mello’s mouth, on the way his teeth play with the bubblegum that’s back in his mouth, absentminded, completely irrelevant. 

Matt snorts. “Feels like it.”

“That’ll teach you to wail on Jackson again,” the blond snickers, sarcasm thick on his tongue.

He’s beautiful.

And there it is. Right in the gut.

“Yeah, right. I’ll learn when he stops acting like a goddamned prick.” After all, what was a couple of punches, anyway? He just wouldn’t get caught next time. Not like Jackson made it out any better. In fact, he’d even had the balls to push Matt against one of the lockers on their way out. 

He doesn’t realize it’s even been quiet until Mello’s digging a nail into his shoulder. “You good? You’re staring.”

“Yeah.”

“What, Matt?”

“Uh… _shit,”_ he gasps when Mello’s hand comes up to his chin, thumb pressing down to pull at his bottom lip. 

It’s not romantic.

They’re just physical. Always have been, always will be.

“What? You piss yourself?” 

Matt doesn’t know what to say. He stares at Mello with wide eyes, and stuffs his hands into his pockets. 

Damn.

Not even close to a girl.

“I uh…fuck. I dunno, man, I think I’m into you,” he says bluntly, stupidly. He stares at Mello’s knees, then his collarbone, then his face.

Mello just stares at him, but his lips part ever so slightly, eyes blank, jaw tight. “Pardon me?” 

“What, no dice?” 

Mello’s squinting at him, sticky hands now pressed to the roof of his car, and Matt has half a mind to shove his fingers off of it, but all he can do is catch glimpses of Mello’s face and neck while fumbling through his pockets to fish out his lighter.

He shouldn’t have said a word. 

That was how it always went, though. Spurts of risk that ended in stupid, confused babbling. 

Mello seems pissed, then confused, then a strange mix of something else that Matt’s never seen in his eyes before, and doesn’t know quite what to think. “That isn’t funny, Matt.”

Is he upset?

“I’m not joking,” the redhead offers weakly, but that only seems to piss his friend off that much more. He’s sliding off the car, feet thumping against the ground and grabbing Matt to slam him against the car. His back cracks against metal, and air flutters from his lungs, sending his cigarette onto the tar of the parking lot.

Yeah, Mello’s mad.

And Matt’s fucking livid, because the blond’s not even in girl clothes—all he’s got on is a pair of baggy jeans rolled up around his ankles, and a black t shirt, tucked in and kept in place with a belt, with that old beat up leather jacket he got from his uncle hanging too big on his shoulders.

He’s had a feeling for months, now, but there had always been excuses.

He’s fucking gay.

Mello, apparently, is not. 

“Then why the fuck are you bringing it up out of _nowhere_?”

They’re blunt with each other, and this isn’t any different. “Fuck, I dunno, man, I thought you looked good.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not trying to be!”

Ah, this whole thing could have gone much better. Mello’s hands are shaking balled up in the fabric of his shirt, shaking him, slamming him over and over again into the door of his car. It doesn’t hurt so much as it annoys him, makes him fret over the paint that hopefully still looks fine by the time he turns around. 

_“_ Get in the car.”

It’s way too sudden, Mello’s pushing him away, all but leaping into the passenger’s seat, and Matt follows stupidly, tracking around to the other side and getting in the driver’s side. 

“Lock the doors.”

Two clicks later, Mello’s turning towards him, and slaps him in the face.

Matt doesn’t even wince. 

“Ow.”

“Don’t come onto me like a fucking _faggot_.”

“I’m not a faggot,” Matt mumbles back softly. He tries to act hurt, tries to _feel_ hurt, really, but all he can focus on is the curve of Mello’s lips, the way he pouts whenever he’s this mad.

He’s distracted by how Mello’s really not mad at all.

The blond rolls his eyes, turns away, and kicks his shoes up onto the dashboard. “Yeah? That’s why you’re talkin’ like that?” he hisses, only halfheartedly vicious. If anything, he looks tired, fretful, fingers tapping against the faded knees of his jeans. 

Matt knows he doesn’t mean it. “Mel?”

“ _What_?” 

“I want to kiss you.” A frighteningly long silence. “I mean, you know. If you let me,” he adds after, folding and unfolding his hands, lower lip trembling. 

Everything seems to stop around them, and Mello stares at him with wide eyes, with that frozen deer in headlights look that freaks most people out.

Matt thinks it’s fucking hot. 

“You’re not joking?” Mello whispers, and his hands are knotting together, fingers lacing and unlacing.

For the first time, Matt notes that his ears are bright pink, and the color’s leaking onto his face, turning into a furious blush that makes heat pool in the redhead’s gut.

And despite how serious he is, Matt laughs. His arm extends, mostly without his thought or control, fingers dragging down Mello’s cheek and to his lips, then back up to his nose. 

“How long?” Mello breathes out, eyes fluttering shut then back open again.

He’s terrified.

“Who knows,” Matt rasps out, which seems to be more than enough for the blond, who’s hastily scrambling from his seat, throwing himself forward at the redhead. 

They’re both scared out of their minds.

Breath against flesh, Matt’s sucking in shaky breaths, and nails rake down his arms. “Then don’t be a pussy, and just fucking do it,” Mello demands.

Matt’s more of a follower anyway.

He kisses him, tongue against lips that taste like sweets and coffee, and Mello kisses back. Or, well, _tries._ There’s too much teeth and he’s mashing his face against Matt’s way too much, but the redhead couldn’t be bothered. 

After all, it was _Mello_.

There’s still hesitation, as if Mello expects him to change his mind and rip away with a laugh on his lips and taunts in his eyes. But the blond accidentally pushes his tongue against Matt’s lower lip, eliciting a shaky moan from quivering lips, and he’s melted in the redhead’s arms. 

“You’re not joking,” Mello breathes out in between kisses and grasps, and Matt feels the smile pressing against his lips, the way his best friend leans into him, pushing him against the driver’s side window.

“Nah,” Matt manages to get out, pushing the two of them apart to get a good look at Mello’s face, at the way his lips purse together, beautifully red and swollen from their kisses. “I’ve been telling you, haven’t I?”

Mello’s mouth is against his again, frantic, sloppy, and Matt loves every second of it.

They’re physical.  
Always have been, always will be. 

~~

With blank eyes and a slack jaw, L revs his motorcycle, B’s arm wrapped around his waist, and he accelerates forward, speeding up until his body tells him with pricks of adrenaline in the back of his mouth that he should slow down before the two of them are decorating the pavement.

B doesn’t say a word about it. He’s more focused on fiddling with the belt buckle he got L for his birthday last year, thumbing at his cock over the thick fabric of his jeans. 

Boyfriends doesn’t really fit, and neither does lovers.

They go to school together, they hang out, they fuck.

It’s not exclusive—L doesn’t care, and B doesn’t bring up any opposition. They’re just friends. Fucking. 

Fucking friends.

L snickers to himself, breath hitching in his throat when B’s thumb catches the waistband of his pants, brushing against bare flesh, and he takes the turn onto his street.

They’ll do homework, then fuck.

Or fuck, then do homework.

Or fuck _while_ doing homework, if that’s something they want to try. 

When they park and get a tarp over the cycle, L’s got his fingers in the belt loops of B’s pants, pushing him against the side of the house. No one’s home, and that’s fine. Better that way, usually. “Why don’t we get some beer?” 

“Mm,” B hums, and licks his lips. “Someone at the top of his class shouldn’t be thinking like that.” 

“Shouldn’t be letting a guy like you blow me, either,” L says softly, pressing a kiss to B’s cheek. 

“Maybe not.”

“Homework first.”

“Sure,” B murmurs, letting L drag him into the house through the back door, kicking beat up tennis shoes off at the doorway.

~~

Near doesn’t have anyone.

He doesn’t mind. 

After all, he’s got his friends, and that’s just about the same. They don’t breathe a word of it, but he knows Matt and Mello are together, probably have been for God only knows how long now, but they don't act any different.

Friends are friends, no matter the circumstances.

Near doesn’t care much for sex. It’s more about the company. Hanging out, doing stupid stuff and spending time together. 

He’s a sidelines kind of guy. He’ll drive the car while the others egg someone’s house. He’ll keep guard while Mello swipes something from the clothing store. 

He’s not very agile, nor is he very active. 

That’s all right. 

More than anything, he likes being involved, even if he’s just in the background.

But that doesn’t make him any less capable. When it’s time for action, he can act.

Exactly why he’s got his hands around this kid Paul’s throat, choking the life out of him. “What’d you say about them?” he murmurs, and his voice is soft, level, hardly threatening. He pushes down, fingers pressing harder against his jugular, intent on bruising, damaging, _killing_. “What was it? Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

Paul gasps, and Near wants to laugh at the waste of air, the desperation, the fear. “You said they were touchin’ each other in the bathrooms? That’s fuckin’ gross.” 

He lets go, letting the other teen stumble back, fully prepared that he’ll try to take a swing. Instead, he grabs at his throat, terrified that he’s still dying. “It was a joke, I didn’t _mean it_.”

Near smiles, laughing without noise, and curls a strand of hair around his finger, staring at the ground. “You get off to that? I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Leave.”

He scrambles away like a dog with a tail between its legs. Maybe it’s supposed to be funny, but he thinks it’s all sort of pathetic. 

Around back, B and Mello are waiting for him, still in their practice clothes. 

“You’re late,” Mello huffs, but he’s hardly angry. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, arms dusted with bruises and scratches, and something about that, to Near, is absolutely stunning. 

“Sorry. I ran into some trouble in front.”

“Again? What the hell’re you doing to piss everyone off?” 

He shrugs. “It was about you and Matt.”  
The blond’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and Near can understand why the redhead loves him so much. He’s stunning, with looks that aren’t quite male and aren’t quite female. Something in between, something that hardly seems human. “Don’t get involved, then. Not your problem.”

Near huffs, hands slipping into his pockets. “My friends are my problem.”

“Mello can handle himself,” B adds, but he’s indifferent. After all, they’ve all intervened for each other at one point or another. 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

He sees Mello scowl from the corner of his eye, but he pretends that nothing’s out of the ordinary. “Suit yourself. Just don’t be surprised when you get the shit beaten out of yourself.” 

But he knows Mello cares. Even Matt, he’d say the same thing to. 

After all, the five of them would do anything for each other. 


	2. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Friendly doesn't mean friends."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's kind of slow, but stuff's gotta get set up for the rest of the story i guess :')  
> Feel free to say hi on my tumblr: http://hokusoemu.tumblr.com

School’s shit. School’s hours of studying, hours of tears and stress and fights and God knows what else. School means stepping into the building and pretending those things don’t happen behind the scenes. Right now, he’s B. He’s second in the class, he’s got his head shoved so far up his ass that no one’ll try to mess with him.

Hell, no one’ll even dare to breathe in his direction.

He’s nuts, they’ll tell him. This kind of guy shouldn’t be here, they’ll say.

That’s totally cool

Today, B’s on a mission the moment he steps in the building. A transfer student in the top ten meant someone to mess with. It means entertainment, maybe a challenge, if he’s really lucky. And this kid’s already shot above the Yotsuba Club in one go.  
Stuck in the middle between two forces. 

From San Diego, too.

B thinks he finds him, suit jacket, perfectly pressed clothes, shined shoes, talking to Teru Mikami on his way to sixth period. 

A hello will do.

It comes in the form of his hand smacking him in the middle of the back with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs and send him stumbling a few steps forward. 

“Get out of here, B,” Mikami growls, and the boy’s eyes widen. 

B’s falsely surprised at the hostility. It’s not like he’s trying to pick a fight this time. 

“Just giving six a warm welcome,” he says, twisting his lips into a smile. 

“ _Nothing_ about you is warm.”

“You’re Light Yagami?” 

The boy’s still wincing, but at least he attempts to straighten himself out and answer. “Yes. That’s me.” 

“B.” He holds out a limp hand, and Light, hesitantly, takes it. They exchange a handshake, and he wants to laugh.

“Is that a nickname?” 

“A name’s a name.”

He hates these kinds of boys.

Light doesn’t say anything.

“You’re making friends, I see,” B decides to add.   
Light nods. Standoffish. “Yes, thanks.”

“Mm. Interested in any clubs?” 

“Mikami’s telling me about the Yotsuba Club,” he responds flatly, and B already knows he’s scared him out of the conversation.  
After all, it’s not about making friends, it’s about intimidation. 

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Beyond says with a vigorous nod. “Politics?” 

“I’m going to be a police officer when I’m through with college.”  
“Really? Ambitious.” And that’s when he stuffs his hands in his pockets, eyes darting over to Mikami.

He can tell the boy’s seething. “Do yourself a favor and join a sports team instead.”

“Huh?”  
“If you’re under fifth, you ain’t shit.”

“ _I’m_ sixth.”

“Yeah? Well, check them out if you want.”

He’s frowning now, looking everywhere but at Beyond. “I will.”

“I’ll give you a tip for the next two years, m’kay? Friendly doesn’t mean friends.”

~~

Light Yagami.

Transfer student, ranking first in the entire San Diego school districts. 

Los Angeles is a different story. He comes in with bright eyes, optimism, and an ego to boot.

He’s sixth.

He’s livid.

_Sixth_. Two seniors, three juniors. Three in his own damn _class_ that are ahead of him.

Absolutely unheard of.

Mikami Teru brings him to homeroom, his back’s sore, and he still can’t believe it. For all he’s studied, all he’s worked. Sixth.

Nate Rivers, Mihael Keehl, Mail Jeevas. One, two, and three. Three, four, and five in the entire school. 

L Lawliet and Beyond Birthday stood at the top. 

That freaky looking guy. Second in the entire school.

“What was his problem?” he asks at lunch, and Mikami’s rolling his eyes, while the girl beside him, Takada, cocks her head to the side. 

“Who?” 

“B, I think.”

“ _That_ jackass?”

“You know him?”

“ _Everyone_ knows him,” she sneers.

Light’s surprised, because these two are in the top ten, and they’re letting themselves get rubbed the wrong way by this guy. Sure, he’s a pain, sure he’s freaky looking, but the three of them will be better off in the long run, right?

“What’s his deal?” Light asks again, and she shrugs. 

“He’s just a prick. He’s in a gang, too.”

“A _gang_?’

“Mhm. He and his friends call themselves the Wammy Boys.”  
And Mikami’s laughing, telling Light that it’s the stupidest name he’s ever heard. 

Light laughs along too, and agrees. 

~~

Wammy Boys. 

Light wants to scoff at how stupid it sounds, but he saw the way a few people would swerve away from them in the halls, saw the way B's eyes narrowed when he walked, and the way he composed himself. 

Near seems to be an entirely different story. He appears calm, innocent, _young,_ compared to the rest of them. 

Matt’s even worse. He follows Mello around like a fucking _dog_ , never speaks a word, never makes eye contact with anyone. He has his hands stuffed permanently in his pockets, shuffling his sneakers against the ground so they make a horrific squeaking noise while he walked. 

He looks like one lazy son of a bitch.

In Calculus, they’re awful.

Two of the Wammy Boys are there—the blond, and the redhead. Mello and Matt, according to Mikami. When he walks in, Matt’s shooting spitballs at Mello’s back while the blond swears and threatens more than a few things that’d land him permanently in jail. 

It doesn’t surprise him in the least, until they’re chatting and he’s catching wind of their conversation.

Mello laughs. “You’ll drive, right?” 

“Huh? Yeah, whatever,” Matt grumbles, and Light catches wind of the conversation. 

“Harvard?” 

“Yeah, that a problem, five?” 

“Nah, I was just thinking maybe Yale instead.”

“Yale? Don’t be a fuckin’ prude,” Mello sneers, and Light wants to laugh at the both of them.

Those jackasses? They didn’t even stand a chance at community college from the look of it.

Mello, case and point, kicks his legs up on the desk, boots clattering against the wooden surface. 

“I guess I’ll have to settle,” Matt decides.  
“I don’t give two shits where you go.”

“But Near’s goin’ too, can’t leave you two alone for too long.”

Mello snorts. “Jealous?” 

“I don’t want you killing the kid.”

“Uhuh?”

“Yeah, Harvard’s cool. Think we can pick up a few parties while we’re there.”

“Maybe.”

“That’d be nice.” 

“What, want a shot with a college girl?”

Matt rolls his eyes. “Christ, Mel, that’s all you got on the brain?”

“Sod _off_.”

They settle down when class starts, Mello parking himself in front and Matt in the absolute furthest seat he can get from the board.

How the hell did these two get into an advanced mathematics class? The thought has him laughing to himself, until he feels a pair of eyes on him, and he catches Mello’s gaze.

“Something funny? Saw you staring at me and Matty earlier.”

_Matty_? 

“Nothing.”

“Uhuh?”

“You really think you’ll get into Harvard looking like that?” he blurts out, and he doesn’t mean to, because he’s not really sure if he can hold his own in afight with a guy like this. 

He justifies it by saying he’s a good kid.

Good kids don’t have any need to get in fist fights.

It’s Mello’s turn to laugh. “God, I hate guys like you.” 

“Proper?” 

“ _Prissy_.”

“Prissy’s better than stupid.”

He’s thinking for a second that Mello’s going to punch him. Judging by the look on his face, his guess wouldn’t be too far off. Instead, his eyes travel to the blackboard, then back at Light. “See that equation right there?” 

“Yeah?” Light asks slowly.  
“Bet I can get the whole thing down before you.”

Light scoffs. Seriously? “Right.”

The blond sneers at him, eye trailing from his face to his shoes, then back up. “You don’t listen to words, do you?” he murmurs, and Light’s pissed, because this utter jackass, leather clad with knuckles covered in cuts and bruises, thinks he stands a chance against him. “Are you backing out?”

But a challenge is a challenge, and if this means upping himself even a little, it’s worth a shot. “Let’s do it.”

“You want to work in teams?” Mello offers, and Light laughs through his nose.

“If you think that’ll help your situation, sure.”

Mello only scowls in response. “You can pick first.”

It’s like he’s trying to restrain himself.

Light knows these kind of people don’t think with their heads. 

“You know what? You can pick someone. I’m fine on my own.”

Mello sighs, and cracks his back. “Shit, alright. You sure?”

“Positive.”

Mello sneers. Matt’s already asleep in theback of the classroom. “ _Matt_!”

Light glances at the clock. Class hasn’t even started yet.

The redhead, hair messed up and arms crossed over his chest, jolts up, grinning like an idiot when he realized that Mello’s staring at him, and gets to his feet. “What? What’s up?” 

“Help me with this.”

“Yeah, no problem. Whatever you want, Mel.”

Seriously? 

They can’t work with each other. They’re two completely different people. Mello holds himself rigid, while Matt seems to be the human embodiment of nothingness. Matt stands slouching over, making him seem so much _smaller_ than the blond, though he’s probably almost the same height. “Ah, shit,” Matt groans, glancing back to the massive calculator secured to his desk. “Damn, I don’t wanna go all the way back there.”

“Then do it in your head,” Mello snaps, and the redhead rolls his shoulders until they crack.

“That what you want?”

“I want to win, I don’t care _how_ you do it.”  
“All right. I can manage that.”

Light could laugh. They were a couple of idiots, nothing more, nothing less.

He’s not worried. Nothing here he can’t do in five minutes or less. He goes back to his desk, plunking in number after number, equation after equation in, scrawling it down in his notes, while Matt stares at the board like a deer in headlights. 

The redhead’s fucked.

“Got it.”

And Light’s head snaps up. “Got” what?

“Mm,” Mello grunts, picking a piece of chalk up from the board.

And Light’s flabbergasted. He breathes, calms himself, and goes up to stand beside them. He’ll write it down, figure out the graph, and he’s all set. 

“You got it, Mel?”

“ ‘Course I got it.”

“You wanna start in the front and i’ll get the back?” 

“We’ll meet in the middle?” 

“Yeah.”

“Totally.”

They start to write, and Light starts writing just a little bit faster. 

There’s no way.

They’re messing with him. 

They couldn’t.

But as he’s about to plot out the graph, the two of them put their pieces of chalk down almost simultaneously, and turn to the Light. “Done?” Matt asks, but the look on his face says he already knows that he’s won. “I know ours is right.”

Light’s eyes are wide.

It isn’t.

It is.

Mello’s indifferent at this point. “Looks like there’s a huge gap between five and six, don’t you think?” 

Matt nods once. “Can I sit back down?”

Mello laughs, but nothing more than that. “Yeah, I’m all set.”

“Cool.”

Matt’s so chilled out that Light wants to scream. And Mello’s so infuriating that he wants to deck him right between the eyes.

And it looks, judging by how his nose is ever so slightly crooked, he wouldn’t be the first one to do it.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Mel,” he hears from the back of the class, and Mello turns around to look at where the voice is coming from.

“What, Matt?” 

“I guess I’d write too slow for Yale.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Okay, so Harvard, then.”

“Yeah, totally.”

~~

As soon as the bell rings, it hits him. He’s whipping around in his seat, eyes wide. He’s in a craze, almost. “You’re Mihael Keehl,” he blurts out, but Mello doesn’t seem fazed in the least by his outburst.

If anything, he’s amused.

“Yeah, that’s me. What?” 

Not friendly in the least.

“You’re second in our class.”

The blond’s nose wrinkles in distaste. “Yeah. I’ll be first pretty soon, though.”  
Matt laughs, and Mello flips him off without even sparing a glance. “Shut it.”

“Is he—“

“Mail Jeevas,” the redhead interrupts, throwing himself right into the middle of the conversation. “Third.”

“Fuckin’ honorable mention spot," Mello sneers.  


“Honorable mention’s better than no mention. Right, six?” 

Light doesn’t know if he’s fuming or petrified.

“Get that shit down without a calculator, and you'll catch up,” Mello offers, but it’s a suggestion dripping with egotistical sarcasm. 

“It’s not your intelligence, it’s your process,” Matt adds, and it’s surreal, how quickly they switch gears. “I don’t know what San Diego was for you, but obviously it’s not the same as here.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

And Light furrows his brow, because he doesn’t understand. “Why are you helping me?” 

Mello smiles, sickly sweet, scrunching up his crooked nose and getting up from his seat. “I like a little more competition than this.”

Light decides that he’s fuming.

~~

Tryouts couldn’t even be considered tryouts. If you showed up, you made the team. He knew his mother would be proud either way. What really sticks with him is the Yotsuba Club. It’s politics, sure, but it’s school politics. Who knows who, who’s donating what, who’s planning what, who’s team captain, who’s going to be prom queen.

It’s, in a sense, a Secret Service. They’ve got eyes all over the place, or at least they’re _trying_ to.

The Wammy Boys, apparently, were doing a pretty decent job of sending those plans straight to hell. 

But what’s more important to Light now is finishing his homework, and getting himself into the top five. 

“Do you want to join?” Takada asks when the meeting’s over. 

“Maybe,” Light hums, because he’s not sure if he wants to commit himself so quickly. But he’s been catching B and his friend—L, according to Takada—eyeing him all day, shooting him nasty looks and lewd gestures. 

Will this help? Will it make things worse?

“I’ll let you know by tomorrow.”

Sixth isn’t an option, and friendly doesn’t mean friends.

Mikami Teru, Takada, Kyosuke Higuichi, and Reiji Namikawa, the main four members of Yotsuba, hold seven through ten. 

He parts ways with her, and heads for the back door, across from the gym.

“Your knuckles are bruised.” The echoing voices catch him by surprise, sudden, loud, familiar.

He hears that cocky, unsettling laugh from around the corner, but he makes himself keep walking. Blond hair and bright blue eyes sneak out of the memories in the back of his head, and he’s pissed all over again. What the hell are they doing here so late? He’s almost at the back doors, and his car’s right outside. No problem. There won’t be an issue if he keeps his eyes straight ahead and his mouth shut. 

“Who cares? They’re always like that.”

“Looks like it hurts.”

“You said it was hot the other day.”

Light’s breath catches in his throat. Who the hell? 

“She nailed you hard, though. You know I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

That nasally voice. It registers finally, and it should have clicked sooner. The two of them were always together, right? It was _undoubtedly_ Matt. He hadn’t heard another person in his life that sounded like that. 

“Yeah, unless you’re doing it.”

There’s a short laugh, then a wet, smacking noise. 

Kissing?

“Can’t argue there.” 

“It’s fine.”

“Gimme.” 

Light turns the corner, and he tries not to look, he really does, but his eyes flicker just to the left, catching Matt’s lips hovering over Mello’s hand, intentions clear. There’s a hand under the redhead’s shirt, and they’re fucking _close_.

_Everyone’s different behind closed doors_. 

Matt’s eyes flicker up to his, and he lets go. Mello’s hand dropping, snapping to his side, head whipping to face Light. 

Shit.

“ _Hey_.”

Light does the first thing his body can think of doing—he fucking _bolts_. He shouldn’t have been there, he shouldn’t have seen he shouldn’t have looked. Adrenaline pushes him forward and out the door, but he doesn’t hear footsteps behind him, so it must be fine, they must not be following. 

Must be okay. 

Has to be okay.

Holy shit, they’ll kill him.

Through the back doors of the school, he comes toscreeching halt when he sees B and L standing, talking casually, stopping as soon as he’s out there with them.

“ ‘Ey, six!” B’s calling out, and he doesn’t know where to go, so he bolts to the right, and these guys, oh hell, they follow him. They follow him until he’s cornered against the brick wall of the school, and B’s looking at him, more than amused, tongue pressing against his bottom lip.

“Mm, what’s with that? You running?”

Beyond stands lax, arms hanging limp at his sides, as if it’s supposed to be some sort of comfort. 

It only unsettles Light that much more. “I don’t hate you,” he says, and his eyes light up, wide, frantic. “But that doesn’t mean I like you, either.”

He should have gone home early. He should have said fuck it to that meeting with the Yotsuba Club, should have said fuck it to soccer try outs. Should have should have should have

“Don’t bother, B,” L murmurs, seeming to materialize next to his look alike, standing on his tiptoes to lazily rest his chin on the other teen’s shoulders. “Five’s enough, don’t you think? It’s already a crowd with those three.” 

The sides of B’s eyes crinkle, and he grins. “Not what this is about.”

“Mm?” 

“I’m just asking if he’s seen Mello. He took off after practice, and we’ve still gotta go shopping before Near’s party.”

“He’s with Matt, probably,” L drawls out. “Five said he was staying after to wait for him, remember?” 

Light knows that he’s visibly paling, that the mention of either of the boys has his stomach churning and his limbs tensing. He’d never seen two boys like that, never seen them so…frighteningly intimate with each other.

Hadn’t seen girls like that, either.

It was a small display, but the weight behind it, the looks in their eyes. Light shivered. Boys just weren’t supposed to _be_ like that. “I haven’t seen them,” he says too quickly, silently cursing when B raises a brow. “I was just on my way out, so—“

B hums, cutting him off. “Oh, I get it,” he says with a nod, pressing his thumb to his chin, tugging his lips down to show part of his gums. Light hates it. “What’d you see?” 

L’s in his face now, eyes locked, terrifyingly close. “You saw them, right? See something you shouldn’t have?” 

Light’s expression is telling in and of itself. “No, I—“

“You were hanging with those bastards earlier, right?” 

“Huh?”

“Yotsuba’s shit,” B pipes up.

He’s scared himself into answering. “Uh…Yeah. Yes.” He knows that’s the wrong answer, but it’s already left his mouth, and B doesn’t seem like the type of guy that’s good at listening. “They’re my friends.”

“Alright,” L murmurs, and B’s got Light by the neck, pressing him to the wall. 

He can barely breathe. If he didn’t think he was freaking the _fuck out_ before, he sure as hell was now.

“We’re gonna talk about how things work around here, got it? Whatever you saw? Forget it. A word about them gets out, and you can forget about getting the shit beaten out of you. We’ll kill you, m’kay?”

And they’re serious.

B looks like the type of guy that’s not quite right—neither of them do. One wrong move, anything that would give them the opportunity to fly off the handle, they’d take it. The type of kids his parents told him not to get mixed up with.

“Now, what were they doing?” 

“Matt was kissing his hands, and I heard—“

He’s cut off by L’s fist between his ribs, a deep hit that knocks the breath from his lungs, making him sputter and gasp for breath like a dying animal. 

“Thought we made ourselves clear. You didn’t see anything, remember?”

“Okay, _okay_! I’m sorry!” Light’s yelling, squirming, and B’s holding him down that much harder, his eyes that much more wild. 

He’s fucking nuts.

The back door swings open, and Light prays that it’ll be help. Mikami, Takada, anyone that will distract them long enough to get out of here.

He nearly dies when Matt and Mello come out of the building. 

“Oh,” Mello says, stopping a few feet from them. “Good, we were going to take care of that in the morning,” he continues, looking at the three of them. “Telling him how it works around here?” 

“Yeah. He’s with Mikami.”

“Too bad,” Matt says. “We only take five, so I guess it doesn’t make much of a difference.”

L shrugs. “Is what it is.” 

“You get it, right, Yagami?” Mello asks, striding to B’s side, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Light’s nodding frantically, because he needs to get _out_. This isn’t good, this really isn’t good, because it looks like B’s itching to beat the hell out of him, and L’s already thrown a punch. And if Matt and Mello were still intending on “taking care” of everything, this wasn’t going to be good at all.

He’s wondering where the hell he went wrong—he went to church every Sunday, prayed every night. Bought the groceries for his mother, helped his sister with her homework whenever she asked. Kept his grades up, did sports, made responsible friends.

What the _hell_.

“It’s really very simple,” Matt murmurs, staying where he is, lighting a cigarette and letting it hang between his lips. He takes a long drag before plucking it from his mouth. “You play nice, and we’ll play nice. Got it?” 

“You keep your mouth shut, and your face stays in tact,” Mello elaborates, but at this point, Light’s not hearing any of it.

Really, he wants to cry.

It’s quiet, and all Light seems to be able to do is nod and apologize, adrenaline pooling in the back of his throat. Seems like the only thing he can do that won’t get him pummeled. It’s telling him to run, to do whatever he can to get out go home get the hell out of here.

L’s the one that breaks things up. “This is boring. He’s not even putting up a fight.”

“Doesn’t make a difference to me,” B retorts, but he’s letting go of Light, letting him slump back against the wall. 

“You need to go shopping, right?” 

B’s the muscle. L calls the shots.

But still, L has one _hell_ of a right hook.

They disperse as quickly as they came, leaving with his hand hovering hover his throat, head bowed and backpack beside him on the ground. 

L.A’s definitely no San Diego.

~~

Drugs are fun. 

Yeah? 

Yeah. 

Toys are fun.

Drugs and toys. 

Near’s sprawled out on L’s basement floor, half eaten plate of cake beside him and leather jacket long since abandoned on the back of L’s chair. He’s ended up with a shirt three sizes too big tugged over his t shirt, not exactly sure where it came from. The world’s spinning and so is he. He hears Matt and Mello kissing on the couch and he tilts up his head, far from subtly watching the two of them. 

He’s got a couple of dice in his hands, and he’s clacking them between his figures until the sound irritates him beyond belief. He settles on stacking them on top of each other in a straight line, right in front of his nose. 

Matt’s hand slips under the hem of the blond’s shirt, flashing toned, wiry muscles and fresh bruises from practice. 

They’re beautiful. 

He wonders, halfheartedly, if his skin would bruise as wondrously as Mello’s. Something, in this state, that he’s half inclined to try. 

Mello’s moaning, on a hell of a lot more than weed at this point, and Near can’t remember what Matt’s been taking, but he’s got his hands all over the blond, like this is something completely _normal_. 

His body’s hot, he’s hard, he watches, and it’s only a matter of time before Matt catches sight of him. 

“Fuck, N, you’re a mess,” he slurs from between heavy lips, pupils dilated. He’s letting go of Mello, and it almost disappoints Near to lose such a sight, but the next thing he knows, the redhead is sitting on the ground next to him, pulling him up. 

He hates being touched. Like this, though, all he feels is warmth and the tingling of his flesh beneath Matt’s fingers. 

Does he want him?

No, not exactly.

He pulls himself away from his friend while Mello’s rolling his way onto the floor, a stupid grin stretched across his lips. 

Does Near want to kiss him? 

No, not exactly.

L and B come tumbling down the stairs, and Near knows that his friends will do anything for him. His friends are the best, for getting together on his birthday.

Doesn’t matter that they get together just about every other day anyway.

B’s speaking German and L’s responding in French. 

Near’s not really sure what’s going on, but he’s happy, even though Matt’s just accidentally stuck his hand in a piece of cake and wiped it across Mello’s face, and the five of them feel like nothing short of a mess.

~~

Light decides, by the time he wakes up the next morning that the Wammy Boys are a bunch of bastards. He decides, mostly based off the bruise in the center of his torso, that no one should be allowed to be that much of a prick and get away with it. No one should be allowed to walk around like they own the entire school in such an uncivilized, violent manner.

With righteousness in his head and a burning anger in his gut, he all but stomps up to Mikami’s locker before homeroom, and offers his hand. “I’m in,” he says confidently, as loudly as he dares. 

Mikami smile at him, and Light hates his face, the way his lips twist back from his teeth, flashing a bit of his gums, but this is better than those _jackasses_ , so he grins, bears it, and lets this boy laugh and have his fun. “Did you have a run in with them yesterday?”  
“Yeah,” Light says simply, and Mikami nods, as if that’s all he needs to hear. 

“What happened?”

“They stopped me on my way out, and L punched me in the gut.”  
Furious or not, he’s still hesitant to spill the entire thing. They’re good, too good, at sniffing out lies, at seeing right through just about anything that he could throw at them.

And when he looks to the side, B’s glancing at him, a wicked grin twisted onto his lips, as if to warn him not to say another word. 

B’s a fucker. They’re all fuckers, though, right? 

“What happened?” Mikami asks again, plucking his glasses off of his face and cleaning them with the hem of his suit jacket. “What else, I mean?” 

Light can _feel_ B’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. He can practically see that smile though he’s not looking at him at all, the way he’s hunched over, hands stuffed in his pockets, feet stepping on the hems of his pants when he walks. 

But no one should have that sort of power over him. 

It’s not like they had anything to hold against him. He has the upper hand here, he reminds himself. So he leans into Mikami, arm stabilizing himself against the locker, angling himself to make sure B can’t see his lips moving. 

“I heard Matt and Mello kissing in the hall after class yesterday.”

“With _Matt_?” Mikami’s all but yelling, and Light’s cursing, shushing him, telling him to keep it the fuck down, because he’d really like to walk home in one piece today. “Mello’s flitty as all hell, but _Matt_?” 

Light shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“And you saw him?” 

He nods. 

“That’s _gross_. We have to change in the same bathrooms as them, you know?” 

When Light passes three, four, and five on the way to homeroom, Mello bumps him with his shoulder, Matt ignores him, and Near turns around, holding his fingers as a ‘V’ in front of his mouth, tongue out between them. 


	3. That'll teach you to open your fuckin' mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The trick to being a teenager isn’t abstinence, he decides, flipping through a folder of pictures he got in exchange for slipping some kid at the park ten dollars.
> 
> It’s discretion. "

By the time Mello gets to class, he’s clocking in at ten hours of studying and three and a half hours of sleep since he left school the day before. 

“I don’t know what you're so worried about,” Matt’s murmuring, fingers kneading at the blond’s knotted shoulders. “You’re really good at Latin.” 

And of course, he’s always laid back. That’s the way he’s supposed to be. Sure, he was right there with Mello, studying like a fucking madman because he hadn’t opened a damned textbook in a week. Still, Matt’ll do fine, Mello doesn’t doubt that.

After all, he’s a wall. Just low enough that Mello’s second, just high enough that no one below can hope to touch him. 

“I don’t get any of this, though,” Mello murmurs, flipping through their notes one more time, trying to brush his friend’s hands off of him. It only encourages Matt to lean harder against him. 

“Don’t be like that, of course you do.”

Mello tries not to think much of Light Yagami.

On days like this, it’s not hard to keep everyone out of his way.

Everyone, minus Matt.

“You’re nervous.”

“No shit.”

Matt sighs, and Mello gets a whiff of smoke. “I wasn’t talking about the test.”

He pauses, tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth. When Matt’s hands move to his neck, he jerks forward.

“Yeah.”

Really, it doesn’t help that he’s constantly looking over his shoulder, waiting, waiting, _waiting_.

Because no matter how much you beat the hell out of one, a rat is still a rat.

Give it food, give it comfort, stroke its ego, and it’ll tell you _anything_.

Mello’s not an idiot, nor are any of the other Wammy Boys. He _feels_ Mikami eyeing him during class, all through his test, and _fuck_ is it distracting. _Fuck_ , does he just want to shout at him and tell him to mind his own fucking business.

Who cares who he’s with, when he’s second in the class?

Soon to be first.

Or, hey, that’s what he’s been telling himself. He tries to focus on the test, on how Matt held his hand earlier, _not_ on what’s going to happen later, who’s going pull the trigger first.

This sort of shit’s a pain in the ass. 

His own fault, sure, but a pain in the ass nonetheless.

“Weren’t you the one who said you wanted more of a challenge?” Matt asks softly, letting Mello pull himself even further forward, scrawling nonsense into the sides of his notes.

None of that would help him on the test. Hell, Matt wasn’t even sure if it was English.

“Not exactly what I had in mind.”

“Yeah, okay.”

~~

B’s been captain of the wrestling team since freshman year. No one can fight like he can, with such aggression and sheer _force_. If he wants to win, then he’ll win. The intimidation works, most of the time, but it’s never a bluff.

He’ll beat the hell out of anyone. 

Mello’s interacted with him on and off in middle school, and when he’s a freshman, he tries out for the team.

He’s overly cocky—something B knows is a compensation for the inferiority complex.

B’s got him pushed onto his stomach, face against the ground. “Come on, sissy, that’s all you’ve got?” He knows Mello’s strong. He’s aggressive, anyway. B’s fingers press into hard muscle, hold down his tense neck and grab until most people would have begged him to stop.

He’s too prideful to quit. Mello’s back up, throwing B off of him, slamming him hard against the ground on his side, and it starts to go from wrestling to _fighting_. 

“The fuck’d you just call me?” Mello’s growling, and he’s got B by the throat, other hand trying to hold him down. He’s gasping for breath, trying to hide the need for rest, face flushed, eyes wide and wild.

B always knows how to make things worse. “Fuckin’ Commie bastard, you fight like a _fucking_ _sissy_.” 

He knows, after all, that his parents are from Czechoslovakia.

The moment Mello grabs him by the front of his shirt, B sucker punches him in the face. He half expects tears, half expects yelling. 

Mello rebounds and punches him right the fuck back, vibrant, icy eyes wide with fury. He misses B’s nose, but gets him real fucking good in the eye. 

That’s all right. 

After all, B threw the first punch.

“You fucking broke it, asshole,” the blond’s groaning, hand over his nose, catching most of the blood, with the occasional drop slipping between his fingers. “Fucking _stupid,_ pop it back into place.”

The co captain takes over, and B leads him into the bathroom, sitting him on the counter next to the sink. “Alright, lean forward.” 

And Mello, surprisingly, does as he’s told. 

When he hears the crunch of cartilage snapping back into place Mello’s yelp follows right after. 

While Mello’s washing his face in the sink, B stares.

Mello’s fucking hot. 

“Christ,” the younger boy mutters, drying his skin with a handful of paper towels. “Does it look bad?” 

“You’re a vain son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

B’s not surprised in the least when Mello lunges at him again.

For the first month of freshman year, Mello had a nasty bruise that spread from his nose to the underside of both eyes.

~~

Mello stares wide eyed at the paper. Ninety nine.

Ninety fucking nine. 

“Yo, Mel, what’d you get? Perfect score, right?” 

He doesn’t even look up at the sound of Matt’s voice. “Go away,” he snaps, crumpling the paper up in his hands.

Like this, he’s unapproachable. 

“Mel—“

“Fuck. Off.”

The rest of the day is thick silence, sulking, arms crossed over Mello’s chest and eyes focused on the ground.

He’d been distracted. It wasn’t the information, it was _never_ the information. He could retain everything just as well, if not better than Near.

And he didn’t even need to ask to know that Near got a perfect score. 

At the end of the day, he’s still second. 

“Its just one point,” Matt finally murmurs when they’re in the car, and Mello’s slamming his fists against the dashboard with a frustrated shriek. 

“ _One point_? It isn’t just _one fucking point!”_

_“_ Mello, hey, hey, it’s all right, don’t get so worked up over—shit, don’t cry, hey, _Mel_.” 

Matt knows he’s no good at this sort of thing, but he does his best, rubbing circles on the blond’s back while the boy buries his face in his hands, nothing short of wailing, salt water dripping all over his hands. 

“ _Fuck_ , _Matt_.”

“Mm?”

“I’m never gonna get into a school like this.” Insecurity hits him in waves, and he wants to claw his stomach out, wants to pull it out and get rid of the way it _twists_ inside of him.

“Hey, you’re still second in our class, what am I gonna do if _you’re_ not gonna get in anywhere?”

It’s just like Matt, to try and make a joke.

“No, you’re _smart,_ and _nice_ and _hot_.”

The redhead sighs, thankful that when he leans over in the car to wrap his arms around Mello that he doesn’t pull away.

Nothing’s worse than when this boy cries.

“Hey, Mel, you think you’re just tired? Didn’t you stay up all night yesterday?” 

“No, I’m just fucking _stupid_!” 

His hand flutters up, in a way it hasn’t done in months, clenching into a fist, and Matt catches him by the wrist just before he bashes it into his own head. 

“ _Hey_ , don’t hurt yourself!” 

“ _Shut up!_ ”

Matt shuts his mouth, holds Mello tight, and lets it pass. The blond sobs into his shoulder, nails digging into his back. “It’s okay,” he finds himself whispering, pressing kisses into the top of Mello’s head, across his cheeks, beside his lips. “It’s okay, Mel, it’s gonna be okay.”

And Mello breathes, tries to, anyway, while Matt rubs circles into his back that do little more than make his skin crawl. 

He hates this. He fucking _hates_ crying, because it makes his face red, and _especially_ because it makes Matt fret.

And Matt, _Matt_ is a fucking laid back guy. 

“It’s fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Better luck next time,” he forces out, and turns it _off_ , because this isn’t going to work, this isn’t what they should be doing right now.

“Yeah, definitely,” Matt agrees, and Mello accepts the kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw, his cheekbones, then his lips.

Matt’s touchy.

He loves it. 

Still, another wave comes, and he wants to puke.

“I’m sorry,” Mello mutters, and Matt’s shooting him a look, nothing short of perplexed.

“Sorry? The fuck are you sorry for?” he replies, planting a kiss against Mello’s cheek again. “Let’s go on a date tomorrow.”

Because the best way Matt can deal with these sortsof things is through distractions. “Where?” Mello sniffles out, trying to wipe the red off of his face, but he knows he looks like shit, can’t imagine why Matt keeps kissing him like this.

“There's a new drive in theatre down the street from my house.”

Mello snorts. “So, you wanna fuck?”

He shrugs. “We’ll see how it goes, right?” 

~~

Kids are kids, and usually, kids fight like kids. Well, in situations where someone hasn’t already thrown a punch—an initiation, an excuse to ignite the flames of war between their two groups.

Jealousy turns to rivalry, rivalry to pranks, pranks into serious fights.

Mello frowns, picking his gym shirt off of the ground. “Someone piss on this?” he asks cautiously, pinching the soaked fabric between two fingers. 

Fucking disgusting.

“Probably,” B confirms, and takes the thing from him, throwing it into the trash. “Not worth washing. You know what’d happen if you came in wearing that, no matter how many times you bleached it.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll get ‘em during practice, if you want.”

“Leave it. Not your business.”

“You sure?” 

“What’ll it look like, if something happens now?”

“That you’re sticking up for yourself.”

“No, that I’m getting it up the ass, and I’m willing to let everyone fuckin’ know that.”

“Well—“

“Don’t.”

“Alright, alright, not my business. Got it.”

During practice, Mello doesn’t do a damned thing. Fights like normal, practice like nothing’s a bit out of place. 

After all, it looks bad if you react right away.

~~

L curls his toes, book dangling above his head from long fingers. 

It’s horrifically boring. 

There’s rustling outside, and L has a guess of who it could be, unsurprised when Near comes in through the window. He glances at his watch. “Two in the morning?” 

“Can’t sleep, you know how it is.” And L nods. He does, of course. For a while, he reads, and Near just sits. They exchange glances and silent words every once in a while, until Near’s making his way over to the bed, inviting himself on after kicking pristine white shoes off of his feet. 

“Mello asked me to stay out of it,” he eventually says. 

“And Matt?” L hums, turning a page, then another.

“You know how he is,” Near says softly, trying to make himself smile.

Is he jealous, that they protect each other like that? Is he jealous, perhaps, that someone so smart is willing to do things so _stupid_ for another person?  
“He’ll follow Mello around like a dog.”

“He’s chosen that for himself.” Near clears his throat. “How’d they know?” 

“Light.”

“Yagami? How the fuck did he figure it out?” 

L snaps the book shut, pulling his legs up to his chest. “We didn’t tell you about the other day? He saw them. B tried to take care of it, but I think we scared him in the wrong direction.”

“And Mello’s not doing anything?” 

“If he reacts now, won’t it look incriminating?” 

Near hums in agreement, twirling a curl of hair in between his fingers. Maybe, though, it would just look like he’s sticking up for himself. Mello never seemed like the kind of guy to just turn the other cheek, religious or not. “Where’s B?” 

“He has work in the morning.”

“Mm.”

Near curls his toes into the other boy’s sheets, watching the soft fabric fold around his toes in uneven ripples and shapes. “Are you staying the night?”  
Near blinks once, twice. “Maybe.”

“Feel free, you know Roger doesn’t mind.”

~~

Until Light Yagami, B was the first and last person to call Mello a faggot. 

When it happened outside of practice, Mello jumped B on his way out of school, holding a knife to his throat, adrenaline pooling on the back of his tongue.

They both know this is reckless.

Actually, it’s just plain stupid.

“I think you’re jumping the gun on this one, Mihael,” B says cooly, eyes trying to catch a glimpse at the knife pressed to his neck. “You’re really going to kill me?” 

“I want you to piss the fuck off.”

And that _word_ rolls off of B’s tongue again. Mello sticks the knife up his nose, and pulls.  
B doesn’t even flinch. His hand moves up automatically to finger at his slit nostril. The blood, more than anything, is fascinating. 

And Mello’s not too quick, because he’s not thinking that far ahead, he’s just _feeling_ , and the next thing he’s fucking _feeling_ is B’s lips against his, hands pulling him in, smothering him, too close, too fucking _close_. It’s metallic tasting, warm, fucking _bizarre_.

He tells Mello that hey, maybe he called him a faggot because he wanted him to fucking _be one_.

And a month later, they’re in bed together.

B presses a leg to his crotch, thigh pressing him into the bed. It’s not about love, the both of them know that.

“ _Hey_.”

“I don’t like loud boys,” B grunts, and Mello ruts against him.

His breathing hitches at a hand moving to the front of his jeans. “I don’t give a _fuck_ what you like.”

And that only seems to entice B more. 

Mello comes with a rush of guilt and a prayer for salvation on his lips. 

It’s wrong, because his skin is crawling. It’s wrong, because B’s got his hands all over him and his tongue’s licking white from his stomach and the hollow of his hipbones. 

It’s wrong, because he wants _more_. B takes his hand, pushing it down, down, over his stomach and to the front of his jeans. Mello swallows into a bitter kiss, shuddering at fingers walking their way down his back.

They decide, after doing this a few times, that they’re interested in other people. 

Mello is, anyway. 

And still, he wraps his hands around his rosary and prays. Prays and prays until words don’t make sense and all that’s left in his chest is empty, raw _guilt_. 

~~

The bomb scare shit’s really getting old. Most of them are too big to fit under their desks, and Matt murmurs to Mello in the back of the class that it doesn’t really matter _where_ they are.

If a nuclear bomb goes off anywhere around here, the whole fucking place is going to get vaporized. Probably, they’ll be dead before they even have time to _think_ about it.

“You think they’ll do it?” Mello whispers, neck bent over so that he can fit his head properly under the desk. It’s uncomfortable, and his face is crammed against his legs, but this is what they have to do—what they’ve _had_ to do for the last couple of years.

Matt shrugs. “Maybe. They just started tryin’ to go to space, remember? If you can do that, you can do whatever the fuck you want.”

Mello nods in agreement. The idea of dying like that sends uneasy prickling right to his gut, but he decides, fairly quickly, that it’s not really worth worrying about. 

It’s a whole mess.

Matt thinks it’s some of the coolest shit ever. He doesn’t exactly have a strong sense of danger or mortality.

Mello’s terrified, because this is what his parents ran from.

~~

Light’s watching his back all week, but the only thing that greets him is silence. In calculus, Mello doesn’t even spare him a second glance. Perhaps it’s humility, perhaps it’s embarrassment, perhaps it’s rage. He and Matt speak softly with each other so that no one can overhear their conversations, looking at no one but each other.

They still laugh, they still joke, but they’re withdrawn.

Light considers that, all in all, to be a victory. 

And if it’s this easy to fuck with the Wammy Boys, how did they hold such a standing in the school before?

But a man’s ego is a man’s rise and his downfall.

The next day, they don’t even speak to each other. 

Light figures hey, if they’re fucking with each other on the inside, why does he have to add anything else? Mikami suggests more, but it’s too much too soon, especially if they stop talking to each other all together.

Mello decides that if Light wants a game, then a game he’ll get. 

“Heard he just guilted his parents into getting him a new dress shirt,” Matt says, nodding in the direction of Keichi and his pressed, pure white button up.

“And he wore it to school the day after he used my shirt as a piss rag?” 

“Mm, guess so,” Matt murmurs against the lid of his coffee cup. 

Mello doesn’t know what possesses him—alright, of course he does—when he sticks his foot just in front of Matt’s line of movement. The redhead stumbles, and the coffee’s thrown helplessly from his hand, opening upon its collision with Keichi’s shirt. 

“ _Mello_.”

“Woah, sorry, Matt, I must’ve lost my balance,” he’s saying way too loud, way too fake, picking the redhead up off of the ground. 

“My coffee!”

“My _shirt_!” 

“ _Your_ shirt?” Mello’s sneering, and Matt’s livid, because his fucking _coffee_ is gone, and Mello used him as a fucking instrument to get his revenge. 

Really, the coffee is the most upsetting thing here, for Matt.

“My mom just got this. It’s brand new, you asshole!”

“Funny, I got myself a shirt, and someone confused it for a dick rag,” Mello mutters to himself, rubbing at the underside of his chin as if he’s deep in thought. “So what’s the big deal if your _mom_ got it, right? Dick rag’s a dick rag to you, I heard.”

“You’re _dead_ , Mello.”

“Then fucking come and get me,” Mello sneers, and Keichi’s lunging at him while he tries to stumble out of the way. Matt throws himself right the fuck into it, because this is the kind of shit he really can’t keep his nose out of. 

~~

Three detentions. Matt, Mello and Keichi sit in different corners of the room, deathly silent as the principal nothing short of _screams_ at them for their lack of maturity, their lack of morality. 

Mello’s not one damned bit apologetic.

Keichi’s fuming.

Matt’s used to being here. 

~~

Light’s not even on Near’s radar. He’s six, and that’s Matt’s problem. 

Well, until Light _makes it_ Near’s problem. 

A “cold war” is political hostility between multiple countries.

Near decides, as do the rest of the Wammy Boys, that this isn’t for them. And yeah, he really likes to throw his weight around, but Mello’s given them all _painfully_ specific instructions not to get physically involved.

So “political” is what it’ll have to be.

The trick to being a teenager isn’t abstinence, he decides, flipping through a folder of pictures he got in exchange for slipping some kid at the park ten dollars.

It’s discretion. 

Light’s a man with an ego—they all gathered that much. A guy that wants to be on top, in every way imaginable. The guy who wants to stand above them with sparking shoes and a clean pressed suit. 

Near snorts at the thought.

“What’s in the folder?” L murmurs against the filter of his cigarette, leaning lazily against his motorcycle. 

“Pictures of Yagami and his friends.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s a joint and beer kind of guy.”

L flips through the pictures, raising a brow and nodding. It’s light shit, but that doesn’t mean it’s _proper_ shit. He wasn’t exactly sure _how_ Near got them, but if he had to guess, it probably had to do with B’s help and a hell of a lot of bribery. “Did Mello say this’s okay?”

“He said he didn’t want us to get physical.”

After all, whatever fistfights Mello decides to start are his own business. Matt, always at Mello’s side, an obvious exception to the rule.

Physical, of course, is the key word.

L nods. “Fair enough.”  
“Are you going to stop me?” 

“For Mello’s sake?” 

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

L flips through the pictures one more time, takes another drag from his smoke, and shoves the folder back into Near’s arms. “This,” he murmurs, motioning to everything around him, mostly to the photographs. “Is not my business.”

And honestly, it’s not interesting enough for him to get involved. 

~~

“They’re _right there,”_ Mello hisses, nodding at the cars a mere few dozen feet away from them.

“They’re either really into the movie, or they’re doing the same thing,” Matt murmurs against Mello’s neck, earning an airy gasp from the blond’s mouth, throat vibrating against his lips. 

“What, getting head from a commie _bitch_?” Mello snap, and Matt hums, watching Mello’s laugh turn to a moan as he rubs at the front of his jeans. “ _Matt_.”

“Uhuh?” he murmurs, pulling the belt from Mello’s hips and throwing it to the ground, fingers shooting his fly. “What’s the matter?” 

“This isn’t a good idea.”

“Maybe not.”

“Fuck. _Fuck_ , at least try to lean over a little more so no one can see you from the window.”

“What, want them to get a good look at your face instead? Wanna just go back to the movie?” 

“No, it fuckin’ blows.”

“So you want me to blow you instead?” 

Mello laughs loud, short, pushing Matt off of him. “God, that’s fucking awful.”

“Hey, I tried, man.”

“You will, though?”

“I’ll what?” 

“Blow me, you idiot.”

“Oh. Yeah, totally.” 

Mello expects Matt to hesitate. For him to second guess, to even pull Mello’s pants back up and tell him he can’t do it. Because it’s one thing to date a guy, another thing to kiss a guy, and a completely different thing to put another man’s cock in your mouth. 

When the pause comes, Mello lets his eyes flutter shut, and waits for the rest. His heart’s pounding in his chest, he’s sure his palms are embarrassingly sweaty, and worse than that, he’s so fucking hard that just Matt’s breath against his skin is driving him insane. He feels himself twitch, and he’s embarrassed as all hell, because obviously, Matt’s not interested anymore. “Mel?” 

“It’s okay, we can stop if—“

“No, no, no, _God_ , no,” Matt’s sputtering, then laughing like he does when he’s nervous, the pads of his fingers digging into Mello’s thighs. “It’s just that, well—“

“You don’t like me just ‘cause I look like a girl do you?” 

And Matt furrows his brows. “What? No, I don’t think you look like a…look, Mel, if I wanted a girl, I’d get a girl.”

“Then—“

“Christ, Mel, what if I’m not _good._ You’re the only guy I’ve ever wanted to do this to, y’know?” 

Mello groans, fingers carding through red hair to the nape of his friend’s neck. “You’ll be amazing.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.”

“Right, well, sorry, I didn’t mean to—“

Mello pulls him up for a chaste kiss, hips inadvertently pressing to Matt’s body, and the redhead rolls against him. “Hey, I’ll do you next, okay?” 

Matt nods, slinking back down to where he was before, and those nerves prick in Mello’s stomach all over again, heat pooling in his groin with a violent shudder. The redhead’s tongue flicks out, swirling around the head of his cock before taking into his mouth. 

“ _Oh.”_ Is all that comes tumbling off Mello’s lips, and Matt pulls his head up, sucking a little too hard, but Christ, it’s _Matt_ , and he’s nothing but beautiful like this, head bobbing as he takes Mello into his mouth. It’s white hot pleasure, trembling hips, harsh yet gentle touches, and overwhelming _warmth_.

Mello’s eyes roll back, eyelids squeezing shut when Matt goes so far down that his lips hit the blond’s hilt, and he’s unravelled when Matt swallows by accident, touching his length in just the right way to make is toes curl in his boots. _“Shit, shit, Matt, shit!”_

The redhead hums, and Mello’s shuddering, trying to rip his head back. “ _Fuck_ , I’m gonna come, you don’t have to— _Oh.”_

He comes, eyes twisted shut and fingers trapped in Matt’s hair, hand pulling back but hips rolling forward. 

When Matt pulls away, tonguing at his lips, Mello’s face is burning and he’s _embarrassed_ , still unsure if his boyfriend had even wanted to do this in the first place. “I’m sorry, I—“

He’s cut off with a frantic kiss, a thing tasting of sex, desire, lust. “Holy shit, that was hot,” the redhead’s breathing over Mello’s lips, kissing him again, again, barely giving him time to breathe in between. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

“Shut up, let me try.”

Mello curls himself over tugging at Matt’s waistband, the latter painfully, overwhelmingly focused on every single movement his boyfriend makes. Nails against his hipbones send chills up his spine, and the way he traces a finger up the underside of his length drives him mad.

Matt’s melted beneath Mello’s touch the moment the blond goes down on him. He imitates what had been done to him, adding tantalizingly slow strokes of his tongue up the length of Matt’s cock, tonguing at the slit before taking it back into his mouth. “ _Hey_.”

His fingers linger at the back of Matt’s waistband, two fingers wrapping around his belt loop, forcing him further forward and down his throat. His other hand sits at the base of the redhead’s cock, stroking at where his mouth can’t reach. “Mel, babe, that’s really good.” 

“Uhuh?” 

Unlike Mello, he’s quiet, whispering mostly to himself. One hand sits on the back of the blond’s neck, the other one draping itself around the back of his chair, and he’s frozen, completely at the other boy’s will. 

It’s unbearable.

He comes with a gasp, bucking his hips up, hitting the back of Mello’s throat, so far back that the he can’t even _taste_ Matt, it’s just swallowing. Swallowing until Matt’s twitching and trying to jerk back.

_Fuck_.

He’s hoisting Mello back up, pulling themselves back together, dragging him into sloppy kisses that have the blond’s back pressed to the leather seat. 

“I love you,” Matt’s gasping against Mello’s throat. Fuck the movie, fuck whoever else the fuck is around them. He’s got his best friend in his arms, kissing him, hugging him, and that’s all he can bother to care about.

“Love you, too,” Mello whispers. Matt’s chest clenches, heart throbbing hard, harsh against his chest. He’s warm, overwhelmed, and he thinks, really, that he’d never want this boy to go away.  
~~

Light’s furious. Furious that anyone _dared_ to put him in this position. He snatches another image off of the wall, ripping it into the smallest pieces his hands could manage.Mikami’s embarrassed, and Takada’s mortified.

They are, after all, supposed to be angels.

“But compared to _them_ , are we all that bad?” Higuchi justifies, and Mikami nods along.

It doesn’t make Light any less angry. 

He thinks, of course, that it must be Mello. Who else would it be? Who else would be ballsy enough, who else would have reason enough to do it? 

He’s seething to the point that he _dares_ to grab Mello by the back of his leather jacket, yanking him backwards on stumbling feet and against the tiled wall of the school. 

Ice cold eyes narrow at him, and he swallows hard. 

Maybe, a mistake.

“Where did you get those pictures from?” Is all he manages to get out, and it’s so undignified—even he knows it is—that all the boy he’s holding down can do is laugh.

Mello squirms out of the grip easily, slamming Light into the spot he had just been pressed against. “Not in the mood, Yagami. I’ve gotta get to class.” 

And Mello’s out of sight before he can say another word. 

It’s _Near_ , later, that he runs into, a handful of papers tucked into his arms. 

“What…are those,” he says softly, dangerously, and Near’s eyes widen ever so slightly, glancing down at what’s in his arms. 

“Oh, these? Want one?” he asks, plucking a paper out of the stack and pressing it into Light’s hand. 

Another image. 

Where had he _found_ these?

“You seem confused,” Near drawls out, and _yeah_ , Light’s confused.

Really, he wants to fucking deck him in the face.   
“ _How_.”

“What do you expect, drinking in the parking lot?” Near asks flatly. “You put yourself out there like that, and someone’s bound to notice.”

Not that he, himself, hadn’t done it before.

Near smiles at him, dimples showing, and holds the papers close to his chest as he excuses himself for class.

~~

In literature, L sits behind him. 

This, he figures, is how a day goes from bad to worse.

“There’s a simple solution to this.”

Light tries to ignore him.

“You leave us alone, we leave you alone.” 

Light turns around in his seat. “I wasn’t the one to throw the first punch.”

L nods, and folds his hands on top of his desk. “You’re telling me, then, that I’m going to have to throw the last one, too.”

Analyzing Hamlet really isn’t high on either of their priority lists. Their professor assigns group projects, and with L and B in the class, everyone knows who L’s going to pick. Still, they go through the motions, and names are drawn from a hat. Each person chooses a partner until the class is narrowed down to bunches of people that don’t _really_ want to work with each other in the least.

“L Lawliet?” 

Light catches B looking at him, and shaking his head. 

“Uh…hm.”

“Don’t joke around,” Near says from the front of the room.

“Light Yagami?” It sounds innocent enough, but the sound of his own name makes his stomach twist. 

He can feel L’s eyes locked on the back of his head.

Oh, he’s fucked.

He’s really, _really_ fucked.

And he _gets_ it. He _gets_ why Matt and Mello pulled apart so quickly. Why only _they_ started fist fights. The whole group would have reacted, he figured.

It would have been an all out gang fight.

But it’s not just fists and cheap tricks with these guys.

When the bell rings, L stops at his desk, backpack slung over his shoulder. “We’ll work on it this Thursday. We’re getting together for homework anyway.”

“We” had to be the rest of his gang. 

“Can’t we work on our own? My mom wouldn’t mind having you over.”

And L smiles, sheepish, lying. “Sorry, that’s the only time I’m available.”

“Bullshit.”

L raises a brow, and Light knows that this isn’t up for discussion. “You’ll be over at five.”


	4. Hotsteppers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, fuckin’ right. Think so isn’t good enough. He needs to know so that L just wants to mess with him. Because they’ve done this before, because L gets bored. And for a moment, B’s stomach turns, because who wouldn’t get bored of messing around with someone that looks just like him?"

There’s a protest in the center of town, and the five of them go, sitting in silence in the middle of a crowd. 

It’s peaceful. For now, at least. The speakers are kind, passionate, and Mello knows a bunch of them have toothbrushes in their pockets in case something goes awry. For many of them, it’s not their first time spending the night in jail. Maybe it’ll be okay, though.

Maybe, things are starting to change. After all, a little girl from Arkansas was allowed to attend a previously all white school yesterday morning.

The cops show up, and Mello looks at B, who looks at L, who says that maybe they should get going soon. Sure, they like to cause trouble, but guns and pepper spray isn’t their thing. 

When the police bring out their shields and weapons, someone throws a rock. Immediate chaos, and they need to go _now_. 

Matt gets caught in a crowd, pepper sprayed with little to no time to protect his face. 

Mello gets a broken bottle thrown at his head. Shit. Shit, they’ve gotta get out of here. With Matt writhing on the ground, trying to rub that shit out of his eyes, it’s spread across his skin, burning and prickling so violently that he’s sure he’s fucking _blind_.

And other people had it _worse_.

At least they didn’t get _caught_ by a cop. 

Fighting peace with pepper spray, and change with batons and fire hoses. 

The cops start moving in on them, and they’re getting the fuck out of there. Mello with a hand over his bleeding cheek, and Matt with L and B leading him somewhere that he can wash his eyes out. He’s half walking half squirming,and sit him down behind the grocery store, pouring water over his face even though they’re pretty sure it’s not doing a damned thing. 

All cops are dirty, here.

Most people are dirty, too.

Stick it to the man, sit wherever the fuck you want do whatever the fuck you want. That’s what the Wammy Boys are about, because this shit is what causes violence.

And sure, they hate a lot of people, but it’s different than _this_.

Hate people who deserve to be hated.

Who the fuck cares what you look like.

The Wammy Boys are the top of their class but the bottom of the societal barrel.

“Fucking hell, man,” Matt’s hissing through clenched teeth. “Fuckin’ cunts.”

B’s tilting his head back again, pouring another splash of water onto his face. What the fuck else are they supposed to do? 

~~

“Do it on your own head.” 

Mello laughs, combing fingers through golden blond locks. “You already said you would. Besides, my hair’s too long.” An excuse, yeah, but Matt doesn’t care. He’ll do whatever, as long as it makes Mello smile.

“Cut it,” he jokes.  
For a moment, Mello looks at him like he’s about to slit his throat. 

He looks cute, with his eyes blown wide like that.

He wouldn't dare say that to Mello.

“ _No_.”

Matt fakes a sigh, and sits himself down on the edge of the bathtub. “Alright, alright, fine. Do what you want.” 

Grinning, Mello presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth before all but ripping the container of grease open. “You’re gonna look great.”

Yeah, great. Maybe.

His forehead’s too damned big, but he doesn’t tell Mello that. 

If he doesn’t go to Harvard, he’d make a great barber. 

Hairdresser, maybe.

Matt wouldn’t mind paying him a couple of dollars to give him a shave and a few touches around his neck. While he looks at Matt’s hair, trying to sit back and see what’d be best for it, he absentmindedly rubs at his shoulders in small circles. “I could be like James Dean.”

“You’re a better Corey Allen,” Mello tells him, and runs a few fingers through red hair. Matt leans into the touch, and tilts his head back to grin at his boyfriend. 

“Dean’s cuter.”

Mello hums, combing the grease through his hair in careful movements. It doesn’t look too good, but it doesn’t look too bad either. Matt stays still, smiling at Mello and the way he scrunches up his crooked nose and chews on his lip to try and stay concentrated. 

Best friends.

God, he loves the sound of Mello’s voice.

“You dressin’ me up for Yagami?” 

The comb stops halfway through his hair, and Mello laughs.

It’s fake. Humorless at absolute best. 

Maybe Matt shouldn’t have said anything. Running his mouth off again without a second thought. Maybe he’ll learn better sometime.

Too late now, right?

“What?”

“He’s goin’ over L’s later, remember?”

“ _What_?!” 

“Guess we forgot to tell you,” Matt says sheepishly, as if that helps a fucking thing. Mello’s jeans are being practically torn off of his body, replaced with his street ones, and a skin tight shirt. 

Oh, right. 

He wanted to scare the shit out of him.

“Christ, fuck, might as well just fuck me now, because lookin’ at you’s gonna get the shit beaten out of me, right?” 

Matt doesn’t dare ask for him to wash the grease out of his hair.

~

Where Matt kisses, Mello bites. Instead of gentle trails of butterfly kisses, the redhead’s thighs are decorated in deep bruises, trailing up to his hipbones and across his torso. He moans, and Mello pushes two fingers past his lips. Matt’s mouth is hot, tongue pressing wet between his fingers. He’s not sure if it’s the act itself that riles him up, or the way Matt looks at him with hooded eyes, 

Usually, it was the other way around. 

When he pushes in, Matt’s breath hitches, fingers curling into fists against the wall. His eyes wrench shut, and _fuck_ , okay, it’s not as good as he thought it was gonna be. He’s too tense, and Mello’s too fast, grasping at his hips and clawing into freckled skin. “ _Oh_ , fuck, Mel.”

“Woah, no, no, no, slow down, fuck, _hold on,”_ Matt gasps, pressing pins and needles into Mello’s back. He’s trembling beneath the blond, so tense that his knuckles tint milky white.  
Deep auburn hair splaying over the pillow, Mello finds his breath caught in his throat. Heat and nerves coil in his gut, and he _wants_.

Matt.

Matt.

Matt.

He’s beautiful.

Still, Mello’s freezing, hands hovering just over the redhead’s waist. “You okay?” he brushes kisses across Matt’s face, down his nose, beside his lips. “Does it hurt?” Stupid question, okay, maybe he should’ve thought of something better. And no one but this boy can make him so nervous, make him so _aware_ of everything he’s doing.

“It’s…fine,” Matt gasps out, and he’s taking deep breaths, wincing. “It’s fine, just…slower, okay?” Because hell, if Mello could do it for him, then he’s going to do the same. 

“Are you sure, I can just stop and—“

“It’s _fine_ , I said I’d do it, right?” 

“M’kay…” Mello pushes in again, agonizingly slow, and _fuck_ , Matt’s hot, he’s tight, and his hips want to move on their own. “Alright, that’s all. You okay? I can—“

“Yeah. Yeah. Hold on…yeah, you can move.”

When Mello rolls his hips forward again, Matt’s clinging to him like his life fucking depends on it. “Come on babe, relax, I’m not gonna make it that long like this.” 

It’s slow, and Matt’s not sure if that’s better or worse, but Mello’s moaning into his mouth, and a hand moves down to stroke him. 

Mello thrusts again, hitting a bundle of nerves inside of him that flash white over his vision and makes heat pool in his gut. He gasps into their kisses, and Mello pulls his head back. “That’s good?” 

“What was— _Oh_.” Mello hits the same spot again, and Matt’s pulling him down, pressing kisses and bites to his shoulder.

“You’re so _cute_ , Matt. Matt, babe, that’s so good.” He moans low against Matt and the bed, quivering when the redhead wraps an arm around him. He keeps hitting that fucking _spot_ , and Matt’s vision flashes white when he squeezes his eyes shut too tight. 

Mello’s beautiful.

Mello’s breathtaking. 

He grabs at Matt, sending tingling _pressure_ through him, and he fucking needs _something_. Something, God, he can’t even get the words out. He lets out something of a whine, and he feels Mello fucking _throb_ inside of him.

“ _Fuck, Mel_.”

There’s heat spilling inside of him, and Mello’s gasping, rolling his hips then pulling out. His breaths are frantic pants, swallowing over and over again to try and pull himself back together. With Matt splayed out beneath him like this, he knows he’s fucked, because it shouldn’t be this fucking good if you’re just screwing your best friend. 

It wasn’t like this with B, knots twisting in his stomach just from the way Matt’s looking at him. 

“Here,” Mello slurs, and a finger runs up Matt’s cock. It takes a few pumps of the blond’s hand and a swirl of his mouth around heated flesh, and Matt’s coming undone beneath him, legs wrapped around the blond’s frame.

“ _Fuck_ , that was good.”

“Yeah?” Matt hums, stealing a chaste kiss from the other boy.

“Mm?”

“I don’t…hurt you when we fuck, do I?’

Mello blinks once, twice. “What? No, I wouldn’t let you if it hurt.”

“Good,” Matt breathes out, running a hand up Mello’s chest, over blond peach fuzz that decorates the skin beneath his navel. How the hell does Mello love him, when he has a body like this? His fingers press against lean muscle, and Mello shuts his eyes, nuzzling his face against Matt’s chest. “You close to getting that motorcycle?”

Mello shrugs. “Maybe, still got a ways to go. I’m doing a few more houses this week, though.”

“I should bring you down to the shop. I’m fixing up a few pretty good ones right now.” 

Mello grins up at him, and Matt’s hands are grabbing at his hips, thumbs rubbing circles against jutting bone. “Christ, _don’t_ , I’ll be all over you again,” he breathes out, and Matt gives him that same stupid lopsided smirk that he always does. 

“Learn a little self control,” he teases. 

An empty house means they can laze around in thin boxers, beneath the comfort of Mello’s sheets. It beats trying to cuddle in Matt’s car, windows all fogged up and air too hot and weighted down with sex for them to _really_ be comfortable. 

Matt presses a kiss to Mello’s jaw, and the blond lets his eyes flutter shut.  
~

Light’s back is rigid as he follows Lout of the school after soccer practice. He thinks maybe they’ll jump him. He’ll get to L’s house, and they’ll slit his throat, beat the hell out of him, God only knows what. Because they _know_ he’s the one that fed Mikami shit about Matt and Mello. Who else could it have been? He’d expected the Yotsuba club to handle things silently, but Takada ran her mouth, and the next thing he knew, everyone had heard about it. 

He shouldn’t have let someone else call the shots. 

“Relax, babe,” L murmurs lazily, pressing his hands into the muscles of Light’s shoulder. He kneads, and Light jerks forward, trying to get out of the grip. It’s not sexual, no, that’s not the thought he’s worried about. L looks about as straight as they come, it’s the sudden contact, the _threat_ lying beneath all of it. 

“Watch it. I’m not looking forward to this any more than you are.”

“Actually, I think it’s going to be a grand time,” L snaps back, fiddling with his motorcycle helmet. Light hasn’t asked about how they’re getting there yet, and L’s assuming he probably hasn’t even thought of it. A good boy like him must assume they’re either walking or driving. 

It’s amusing, in a way. 

Really, Light’s not too sweet at all.

Not a problem—none of his friends are. 

“Are you kidding me?” 

L shrugs, and motions towards the motorcycle in the back of the lot. “Let’s not waste time, Light. I’m sure everyone’s eager for us to get back.” 

“We’re not taking that, are we?”

There it is. 

“Sure as hell aren’t walking.”

“My mom will kill me.”

“No, I think your mom will kill you if you don’t get your project done,” L suggests. It’s too tiresome to argue something like this, so he shoves his helmet into Light’s hands, and grabs the spare from the handle. “It’s ten minutes, don’t get your panties all up in a bunch.”

“L, I—“

“What, want a cigarette to calm down?”

“I don’t smoke.”

L shoots him a flat look. Light swallows hard. Okay, that’s bullshit. 

Especially these days, everyone smokes. 

“Fine. Fine, let’s just get this over with.” At least, Light tells himself, he has a helmet. At least, he tells himself, L won’t get them killed. Maybe. Hopefully.

His stomach flips, and he latches onto L’s torso when he slams on the gas, whipping the motorcycle out of the parking lot. 

The thing about L is that he’s so many steps ahead. And yeah, Light hates him, Light could kill him, but it’s a _challenge_. At least Mello has the decency to be surprised by something the Yotsuba Club does. With L, it’s always that same look. No reaction, no disdain, no nothing. He does what he needs to do, and that’s that. He’ll throw a punch, but he can do it with no motivation and a blank look in his eyes. 

The hell is he getting himself into?

Light’s heart is in his throat, stomach twisting that much more with each step he takes down toward L’s basement. It’s not L he’s worried about.

Okay, maybe it is.

Out of the five, which his the most detrimental?

Physically, Mello seems to be the obvious answer. 

But is that _too_ obvious? They’re not idiots, regardless of what he wants to believe. It’s too easy, to put it all straight on Mello.

Hell, when he gets down there, the basement is empty save for B and Near. He knows the relief is obvious on his face, and Near’s quick as a fucking whip.

“I don’t know where they are, but I’m sure they’ll show up soon.” When he looks at Near’s eyes, wide, black pupils dilated so, so much further than they should be, he knows this kid’s _fucked_.

But when the duo comes in, they’re silent. Silent as a fucking pair of corpses, Mello with his eyes glued to the ground and a snarl on his lips, and Matt with his hands shoved into his bomber jacket.

With slicked back hair and glasses clipped to his shirt, Light gets a glimpse of bright green eyes. Something, just _something_ about that boy’s face isn’t quite right. Sharp features, high cheekbones, and a jutting jawline. 

The kind of guy girls would go crazy over.

It just makes Light _furious_.

But Matt is just Matt, and out of the five of them, he’s the only one that just seems to be there without any sort of purpose. He follows Mello to the couch, and puts his bag next to the blond’s. 

“Christ, you look like hell,” B jokes, but the smile drops from his face the moment Mello picks his head up and looks at him. 

Even an idiot could see the harsh welt bubbling on his cheek, and the one peeking out from the collar of his shirt. Definitely not hickeys, definitely not anything _Matt_ would have done. But Light doesn’t _understand_ , because this bastard is usually so fucking cocky after a fight that it’s unbearable.

“Yo, I’m going up to roll a joint,” B says quickly, and ejects himself from the room.

“Looks like you’re all talk,” Light sneers, and when he sees L tighten his grasp his literature handout, he can’t understand what all the fuss is about. Here Mello is, a huge welt on his face, and a fucking sulking attitude. 

Like that’s anything he’d ever show in school. 

Mello doesn’t even respond. He looks away, rustles through his book bag, and pulls out his Calculus. “God, is he always this fucking annoying?” Mello groans, collapsing onto the couch. “Matt, take care of it. _Please_.”

Matt doesn’t look any more eager. He rolls his eyes, and gets his own homework. “Give me an hour, Yagami. You can’t even throw a good punch.”

“How the fuck would you know?”

“Haven’t landed one on me or anyone else here.”

“I’ll fucking—“

“Do your homework. We’ll fight after, m’kay? If you can’t get me, you don’t stand a chance against Mel.”

It’s an hour. One hour of complete silence, one hour of L and Light finishing their project, an hour of Near working on God knows what, and an hour of Matt blasting through his Calculus homework. 

“Come on,” Matt spits as soon as his book snaps shut. “You’re all talk, right, Yagami?”  
Of course he’s all fucking talk. What would anyone expect? He’s pampered, his father used to be the Chief of Police in San Diego, what the hell would he need to know how to street fight for? He’s got a nice family and a nice job set up for when he gets out of school. Not a damned thing to worry about. 

Matt lets Light go first. When he throws a punch, Matt catches it with tight fingers, and it turns into a wrestling match.

Sort of. 

Matt just wants to make it interesting. He lets Light throw him to the ground, back hitting the carpet with a dull thud. But he’s impatient, and that’s all he really has time for. He’ll admit, that Light put up a decent fight. For normal standards.

Not compared to Matt and his friends, who do this sort of shit for fun.

Maybe, if his life depended on it, he could win a fight. 

Light’s beneath him on the ground in under a minute, arms trapped against his back.

Matt laughs humorlessly, hips pressed firm to Light’s ass, pinning him to the ground. Face pressed to the carpet, Light squirms, bucking up and trying to do _something_ to get Matt off of him. But he knows it’s over, because he can tell by the grasp that Matt’s a fighter, that he’ll play dirty and that he’s going to do whatever it takes to win. 

“Fucking _homo_.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. If a lady doesn’t want you, I’m not gonna want you either,” Matt breathes out, low, threatening. 

That doesn’t quell the sickness in Light’s stomach one bit, because forget about Matt wanting him, all he can think of is Matt fucking _Mello_ like this, pinned down, squirming, gasping, moaning for each other. 

And Matt’s an asshole, so he rolls his hips just enough for Light to notice, and he’s frantic all over again.

It’s worse, that L’s got his eyes fixed on the both of them, a lopsided smirk crossing his lips. 

“I get it. I get it I get it, _fuck,_ get _off_.”

It’s Mello’s voice, that finally saves him. “Christ, Matt, he looks like he’s gonna fuckin’ shit himself, get off.”

There’s a groan, and the weight’s off of him, with Matt flopping himself back down on the couch. “You want a go at Mello?”

“I need to go home.” Thank God his voice doesn’t come out trembling.

Still, Mello snickers. “I figured. Gonna take a shower and try to forget about gross homo fingers all over you?” he taunts, and Light’s face burns. 

None of these five have any _shame_. Not here, anyway. 

~~

Beyond sits in the shower while L shaves. It’s improper, B’s mother once told him, to do things like this. You’re not supposed to clean yourself in front of others, that’s for private affairs, for _marriage_.

Throw it all to hell if it doesn’t feel like they’ve already been married fifteen years.

And besides, who the fuck cares if you’re shaving your face when you’ve already stuck your dick in them? Friends. Friends friends just friends.

Fucking hell, who cares what they are? B’s having a good time, and L hasn’t made any complaints. For him, things are decent enough. He’s a simple man, or at least that’s what he’d tell anyone that asks. 

The mantra plays in B’s head, and he thinks he doesn’t mind.

Well, okay, he does.

But he’s not jealous of intimacy, because that doesn’t mean jack shit. Hell, he fucked Mello without a second thought, right? And he’d do it again, if Matt was cool with it. No hard feelings, and better friends than they could ever be lovers. 

_Friends_ are a different story.

Lovers come and go, objects of temporary desire and permanent loathing.

And if L’s going to consider Light his friend, then fuck him sideways and let him get hit by a fucking bus on his way home. 

“You like him,” B says after what’d been unbearable silence. “Light, I mean.”

L shrugs, rinsing his razor before bringing it back to his face. “I’m not sure.” 

“Yeah? You just like messing with him, then?” he asks, running his hands through sopping wet hair.

“I think so.” L splashes his face with water, and B peeks his head out from behind the shower curtain. 

L doesn’t even look at him.

No big deal no big deal no big deal.

Yeah, fuckin’ right. Think so isn’t good enough. He needs to know so that L just wants to mess with him. Because they’ve _done_ this before, because L gets bored. And for a moment, B’s stomach turns, because who wouldn’t get bored of messing around with someone that looks just like him?  
“He’s not all that,” B mutters.  
“Then don’t bother with him.”

Beyond grins. Tries to, anyway. “I don’t like that he’s got a stick shoved up his ass.” He doesn’t ask L if he wants to fuck him, because that doesn’t matter. He ain’t a girl and B’s not a bitch.

“That’s repairable.”

Of course it is.

B barks out a laugh, crossing his arms on the frigid edge of the bathtub, propping his chin on them. “Lawli, babe, get me a smoke.”

“Y’know, they had a study come out recently that says smoking gives you cancer.”

L’s trying to piss him off. He swallows the desire to fight, and pulls himself to his feet, stepping sopping wet out of the shower. He doesn’t even grab a towel, and drapes himself against L’s thin frame, pressing a soaking wet kiss to his cheek. 

When it comes to L, B isn’t usually the jealous type. And when it comes to B, L’s usually not the fighting type. But there’s that lingering fear that he’s just _observing_ , watching B like some sort of _thing_ that’s always two steps behind. 

Light’s _sixth_ , what the hell thinks _he’s_ going to be any more interesting?

“Shut the fuck up, you know that’s bull.” Right now, he _needs_ the calming pool of nicotine in his gut. He nips at L’s ear, dragging hands down his shirt, leaving stains of water against white fabric. 

He’s the kind of guy people call fucking nuts. He’s the kind of guy that’ll kill someone to get what he wants. Maybe. 

Who knows, really.

Don’t most humans crave violence, deep down? 

He bites down too hard, and L hisses, digging the pads of his fingers against B’s forearm. “Beyond.”

“What, babe?” 

L snorts, anger disappearing in a flash, and fishes a smoke out of his pocket, placing one between his lips and passing another to Beyond. Not like anyone gives a shit if they smoke in the house. “What an angel,” B says, sickly sweet. Fingers trace the waistband of L’s pants, dipping ever so slightly into his boxers. “What can I get for you?” 

“In return? Ride me,” L says, without a hint of interest in his voice, but his groin is hot, pelvis twitching less than subtly against Beyond’s hand when he dips even lower.

He loves L, he decides, legs on either side of him, riding him with slow rolls of his hips with one hand on his mouth to take long drawls of his cigarette. That’s a dangerous game to play, because he knows L doesn’t love anyone. L, who looks up at him with lazy, tired eyes and fucks him with deep thrusts and freezing cold hands on his hips. 

Nails dig into his skin, and he _moans_. He doesn’t mean to, because _shit_ , the smirk that slips onto L’s lips could kill him.

“That’s awfully loud, for someone that doesn’t like loud boys,” he teases, and fuck him fuck him fuck him, L hits inside of him just right, picking up his pace when he sees the way Beyond squirms on top of him. 

“ _Quit it,_ ” B snaps back, but he knows this is a game, that it just encourages L. Fingers sneak to his length, fisting at it with rough pumps that bring him too fucking close to that edge. 

He stops, and B could die. 

It goes on for so fucking long, lingering _nothingness_ and rough, frantic touches that bring him so so so so close but not close enough and Jesus fucking Christ he could _kill him_. “ _L_.”

“Huh?” he drawls out lazily, doing the same fucking _thing_ again, and B’s toes curl, body tense around his friend. Heat coils, strikes at his insides and his cock like fucking venom. 

It’s fucking _humiliating_ , to be treated like this. 

It’s humiliating, because he’s so fucking hard, and noises keep coming _out_. Hints of groans and yelps, hissing between clenched teeth and trembling limbs. 

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Beg me.”

“ _No_.”

“Fine.”

And he stops. 

It doesn’t take B long to cave, because really, he fucking loves it. He loves that L can do this to him, that L can reduce him to nothing with just a few touches. He doesn’t want to let up that control, but a weak noise slips from his lips, and he’s grabbing at L’s hand, forcing it back against his crotch. “ _Please_.” He ruts against him, but again, L pulls away.

He’s a fucking dead man. “Please, I said fucking _please,_ didn’t I?” Beyond snaps, trying to get L to fuck him harder, to touch him, to _anything_.

“That’s not very cute.”

Mother fucker, he fucking _whimpers_.

That does it, that does something, because L flips the two of them over, pushing him into the mattress with barely displayed strength, pumping at B’s cock until he’s yelling something that’s supposed to sound like L’s name, spilling white on himself and the crevices of L’s hand. 

He could kill him, but B complies because he wants to be _interesting_ , because no one, especially not some sixth place shit is going to take his best fucking friend away from him. 

~~

Near swings his legs in the pew, sitting in the back left hand corner of the church. Mello’s up front, praying like a crazed fucking maniac, necklace clutched between trembling hands.

Yeah, he fucks Matt, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t come without consequence.

Matt’s got the back right hand, seconds short of slipping into a coma. 

Of course, he goes because his mother nags him. She pinches his arm, and he bolts up, back suddenly rigid. He moves so fast that his foot slams against the kneeling slab, echoing a loud smack through the church.

Automatically, Mello turns to glower at him.

Near almost laughs at how predictable it all is.

They all know each other too well.

In the front right, B and L sit perfectly still, no prayers, no hymns, no nothing. Perfect copies, they stare at Christ crucified, a dull acknowledgement in the back of their minds of what they’ve done and where they stand. 

They’ve fallen into the grasps of nihilism long ago. 

In the light of flickering candles and dim lights, they’re so ironically beautiful. 

As soon as the priest is out, carrying that too bright cross over his head, Matt’s bolting across the church, seizing him by the arms. 

“Look like you’ve seen a ghost, five.”

“Near, I need a smoke.”

And he gets it. “Hold on, I think I left ‘em outside.” They escape through the back door while his mother wanders to the basement for morning coffee and pastries. And Matt, poor Matt’s white as a sheet, hands trembling while he fumbles with his cigarette tin.

“Jesus Christ.”

“You look like you’ve fuckin’ seen him. Sermon get you that hard?”

Matt snorts and takes a long drag, relishing in the swirl of nicotine in his gut. “My fuckin’ mom, man.”

“Holy water’s not bad for you, y’know.”

“Shut the fuck up, okay?”

“Geez, that rough?”

“She fuckin’ invited Light and his parents over for dinner.”

Oh.

“So? That’s more his problem than yours.”

Matt just stares at him. Okay, not a good sign. 

“What happened?”

“Mello moved in yesterday.”

“ _Huh_?” Near sputters, already wide eyes blowing even wider. 

“Mello. Moved in. Yesterday,” he repeats, slower this time. 

“He sat away from you guys, though.”

Matt shot him a flat look.

Of course. The blond wouldn’t want to look like anything’s out of the ordinary. 

Why, though? How?

_How_?

Christ, does Matt’s mother know a single thing about the situation? She isn’t a stupid woman by any means, always on Matt’s tail when she can be, trying to stay in the loop with him. 

“That’s gonna look bad.”

“Thanks, Near. Shit, I didn’t fucking know it would _look bad_. Fuck me in the ass.”

“Mello’s got that covered, but thanks.”

“ _Near_.”  
“Okay. Okay, well, try to get them to break it off.”

“Don’t think so.”

“Damn, what gives?” Near sneers with a few clicks of his tongue. “His dad hot or somethin’?” 

Matt snorts. “He’s not all that, like his son.”  
“Shit, the fuck, then?” 

“He’s going to be the new Chief of Police for Los Angeles.”

“ _Yagami_ ’s dad? No wonder he’s got it shoved so far up his ass.” 

Matt groaned, and Near shrugged. No matter what way they looked at it, they were fucked. Maybe they could convince his family that Mello was just visiting. But either way, that wasn’t good for school, because Light will put the pieces together. 

He flicks his cigarette onto the sidewalk and grinds it into the ground with the back of his dress shoe.

~

Takada. 

Sure, Takada’s fine. Whatever.  
Christ, he doesn’t care at this point.

Her voice is too high pitched when they fuck, but she’s got a nice rack, at least, and she does whatever the fuck he wants. Legs locked around his hips, she lets him push her into the mattress, one arm by her head and the other hand roaming up and down her frame. 

He tries to forget, because Matt’s body pressing into his still burns at his skin. Fucking _gross_ he wants to tell himself, because it’s not _right_ to have a homosexual that close to him. It’s not _right_ it’s not right it’s not right.

God, the thought makes him queasy. It’s a fuckin’ disease, that’s what everyone’s saying at school. A disease that you can catch that you can spread that you can send floating on to everyone else you fucking know. 

_Gross_.

But Matt wasn’t hard. No matter which way he looked at it, he was the one pressed into against the floor, pants uncomfortably tight around his pelvis. 

But he still likes women. He doesn’t care much for Takada, but she’s hot, and she gets the job done. And it still feels _good_. 

He tells himself it was just the idea of contact. An awkward situation with an awkward confidence. It had nothing to do with Matt and nothing to do with the way L watched the whole thing, bored, tired eyes watching their every movement.

“What’s wrong, Light?” Takada coos when she catches him staring, running manicured nails up his back. He shivers, rolls his hips, and she whimpers. 

“Nothing…Nothing…God, Takada, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, and presses their lips together. 

He doesn’t want to think that he’ll be back in the lion’s den, between school and a “friendly” dinner this week. It’s brutal, how friendly Matt’s mother is, how insistent she is on making friends.

He hadn’t seen Matt’s father there.

Maybe he’s not religious.

Not the least of his worries now, anyway.

He comes when she tenses around him, and collapses beside her. “Beautiful,” he whispers again, and runs a finger across her stomach. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone that's read/commented on this story ;; It really means a lot, and I'm glad people are enjoying it :) Feel free to say hi on my tumblr at hoku-soemu.tumblr.com


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